


Let's Get Lost

by Bouncey



Series: To Carry Your Marks [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Camping, Chapter One is all fluff, Chapter Two is All Smut, Consensual Non-Consent, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fireside snuggles, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Geralt pretends to be a bandit, Light Bondage, Like Jaskier is very clearly aware that it is Geralt and they are having a good time, M/M, Poor Roach, Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Smut, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25511428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey
Summary: Jaskier glanced back over his shoulder and peered around their campsite. His Witcher had apparently disappeared back into the trees. There was plenty of firewood piled up next to their packs so he couldn't have gone looking for that. Roach was now resting peacefully on the ground, something she rarely ever did unless she was in her pasture at Kaer Morhen, so he wasn't looking for the horse. Where in the hell was G-A pair of warm, calloused hands closed over his eyes from behind and made the world go dark. A deep, gravelly voice asked: "What are you doing in these woods all alone, little bard?"
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: To Carry Your Marks [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807651
Comments: 15
Kudos: 401





	1. Touch Me, I'm Golden

**Author's Note:**

> Much like my D&D series, this is going to keep the Fluff in chapter one and the Smut in chapter two so those who like one but not the other can read it and still enjoy.
> 
> Title from "Let's Get Lost" by Beck ft. Bat for Lashes
> 
> (Yes, "my dulcet darling" is from the Princess Bride)

“This isn’t the right path.”

“What?” Jaskier looked up from his lute, glancing around the trail they’d been traveling down for several hours now. “What do you mean this isn’t the right path? We’ve been walking in this direction for nearly a whole day!”

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, Beloved. I thought the fork back there led into town but I think we may be slightly off course,” the Witcher sighed. He turned Roach around and started back in the direction they’d come. Jaskier gawked after him, jaw nearly on the ground. 

“Excuse me? We’re just going to turn back?”

“Hmm.”

“Geralt, my dulcet darling. My delicate Flower. My beautiful and mysterious White Wolf. Prince of my heart and also my arse... _the sun is setting._ If you haven’t noticed, it’s getting rather late. We may want to find a nice pile of leaves to bed down in for the night and start back to town in the morning instead.”

“Hmm. I suppose you’re right, Beloved. It's not safe for Roach to walk this path at night. She could fall and slip a shoe.”

“Shall we make camp close to the path or further back in the trees?”

The Witcher took a sweeping glance over his surroundings and swung himself down from Roach’s saddle. He reached for Jaskier and laced their fingers with practiced ease. “Much further back. I want some privacy.”

“Do I hear running water, perchance?”

“You do. There’s a little creek maybe half a mile north; I can hear it loud and clear. Would you be willing to make the walk if it meant you got to take a dip in clean water?”

“It _has_ been rather hot lately,” the bard pretended to consider, “I suppose I could walk a _little_ further. For a bath. And privacy.”

“Thank you.”

“Lead on, Flower. I shan’t get in your way.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt, Jaskier, and Roach abandoned the main road completely and wove their slow way through the trees towards the sound of gently flowing water. The early summer air was warm and heavy with moisture. Even Jaskier’s light clothing felt overly constricting. Sweat built quickly on the back of his neck and trickled down to stain his collar as they walked further into the forest. He was very excited to dive headfirst into the creek and rinse away nearly three days worth of traveling grime. He loved his Witcher more than anything in the world but he still wasn’t quite used to such an irregular bathing schedule. “I certainly hope there are no bandits or monsters roaming these woods. I’d like a nice quiet evening for once; and a long soak to clear my mind.”

“I doubt we’ll run into any evildoers in these woods. We’re too close to town,” Geralt asserted. 

“We’re nearly two full days from a town,” the bard snorted in response. “If I get mugged again I’m blaming you entirely.”

"I'm not the one constantly in need of rescuing."

"Of course not, you're a Witcher. I'm merely the Witcher's Beloved and therefore, for some stupid reason beyond all mortal comprehension, mine included, the Continent's favorite kidnapping target-slash-mugging victim."

"You're being dramatic."

"Geralt, my sweet, you've untied me from probably three different trees and one ceremonial stake this season alone. One job without mischief would be absolutely lovely."

The Witcher rolled his eyes affectionately and squeezed Jaskier's hand. It wasn't like the bard _tried_ to get into trouble. Fuck, the last issue they'd encountered was Geralt's fault entirely (don't insult minor nobles with ties to organized crime; lesson learned). The gentle splashing of water over rocks was growing louder. Geralt felt Jaskier squeeze his hand back and smiled warmly, “Nearly there, Jask.”

Now it was the bard's turn to hum back absentmindedly.

When they finally broke past the treeline and found themselves in a lovely meadow bordering a shallow river, the bard whooped with happiness. He dropped Geralt’s hand and skipped to the edge of the stream. He whirled around to beam at his Flower, “Oh this looks absolutely _lovely_!”

“Hmm.”

“Would you care to take a dip with me?”

“Firewood and hunting dinner first, bath-time second.”

“Fine. You’re no fun,” the bard whined and stuck his tongue out. Geralt replied in kind, not that he’d ever tell anyone about it. Jaskier smiled smugly, “If you leave it out like that a bird will nest on it.”

“You started it.”

“And? I’m not the grouchy, serious Witcher now, am I? People expect such childish behavior from me. I'm sure if I told Lambert or Eskel that you stuck your tongue out at me they'd be highly amused.”

“Hmm.”

With the conversation clearly over for now, Jaskier wandered back into the forest to look for fallen branches and dry logs. In woods so dense it wouldn’t take him long to build a passable fire. Geralt was out chasing down their dinner, no doubt. Roach munched happily on grass and dandelion greens nearby, snuffling every once and awhile and flicking her ears back and forth curiously. It was oddly picturesque with the sun halfway set and the water gurgling along next to their campsite.

Jaskier was sure it would be a lovely evening.

Geralt caught a pheasant for dinner, something Jaskier hadn't seen in several months. "Ah, what luck! I'm so glad it wasn't rabbit again. Not that I don't enjoy a good rabbit leg here and there but subsisting only on such tough meat can be exhausting, yeah? There's supposed to be an Equinox seen in Redania later this year. We should attend the festivals. I'm sure I can pull in some coin by performing and since I'm local nobility there may also be free room and board. I think-"

The bard continued his train of thought out loud as he plucked the bird and set it over the fire to roast. Geralt relaxed against his bedroll, listening to the sweet and gentle sound of his Beloved's melodic voice as he flitted from topic to topic with barely a pause for breath. The Witcher may have teased the bard about his singing and his endless chatter but when it came down to it, the Witcher loved hearing both very much. He watched the dandelions printed on Jaskier's skin flex and twist as he moved around the fire, glimmering and gilded in the last rays of sunlight.

"Beloved," the Witcher called across the fire, once dinner was truly cooking. "Come here for a moment."

"Yes, Flower?" 

"Hmm, let me hold you."

"If you must," the bard winked. He settled himself into a comfortable position straddling Geralt's hips. This allowed him to either lean against the Witcher's chest and be held or lean back on his own legs and look into Geralt's face. Not to mention the twin wonders that were his Flower's muscular thighs. He could feel those flexing against his ass _all day_ and still find it endlessly sexy. 

"I really must," Geralt insisted. The Witcher wrapped one arm around Jaskier's shoulders and the other around his waist. He pulled his Beloved close and smiled when the bard laid that head of soft brown hair against his shoulder. The younger man's nose automatically went for the area behind Geralt's ear. The Witcher wasn't sure if this habit was instinctual or practiced but he didn't mind either way. He could feel Jaskier's even breathing and the sensation of such soft skin against his own was heavenly. He traced a fingertip over the marks on Jaskier's bare calf. "Would you be amicable to making love tonight?"

"May we eat and bathe first, my darling?"

"Of course, Beloved. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Then I am more than amicable. Maybe we could mix it up a little. Try something new while we have some real privacy?"

"Like what?"

"Actually, I have no idea." Jaskier waved his hand dismissively, the rest of him still trapped against his Flower's strong chest. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

The Witcher let his mind wander to all the times he'd rescued his Beloved in the last few months. Their collection of rope had grown considerably since Jaskier couldn't seem to stay out of the stuff for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Not to mention the fact that he hadn't been able to sleep with the bard in any of those situations; one of them usually needed their wounds patched up. It was only fair that he got a turn putting his delectable little bard in distress. 

The distress didn't have to be of the life-threatening kind, after all. Jaskier could beg for more than just his life with that sweet, warbling voice.

“Oh Geralt,” the bard groaned, lowering himself into the cool, waist-high water of the stream. “This is wonderful.”

There was no reply.

Jaskier glanced back over his shoulder and peered around their campsite. His Witcher had apparently disappeared back into the trees. There was plenty of firewood piled up next to their packs so he couldn't have gone looking for that. Roach was resting peacefully on the ground, something she rarely ever did unless she was in her pasture at Kaer Morhen, so he wasn't looking for the horse. _Where in the hell was G-_

A pair of warm, calloused hands closed over his eyes from behind and made the world go dark. A deep, gravelly voice asked: "What are you doing in these woods all alone, little bard?"

 _Oh, so we're playing a game._ Jaskier tried not to smile. He wanted to play along. It wasn't often that Geralt initiated such frivolities but Jaskier was rather fond of foreplay. Even _roleplay._ He'd worn Geralt's medallion to bed and pretended to be another Witcher once. _That_ had been an interesting night indeed.

He kept his hands still at his sides. "Y-yes. I'm very alone. And defenseless."

 _Nailed the trembling voice there, Jask,_ he congratulated himself. _Very good. You're really bringing that damsel in distress energy to the forefront._

"Hmm," Geralt kept the bard's eyes covered with one hand and ran the other down Jaskier's naked side, trailing over a few of the familiar flower trails and posies. His warm fingertips left gooseflesh their wake. The Witcher leaned his head down and pressed his lips against Jaskier's throat as his roaming hand settled against the younger man's hip, right over the thin line of dandelions from the farmer's knife wound. He lowered his voice and murmured against the skin of Jaskier's pulse-point. "Not very smart, are you? These woods are dangerous at night. You could be robbed and killed. Or worse."

"Worse than robbed and killed?" Jaskier squeaked theatrically. He gave a full body shiver for added dramatic effect and felt his Flower's chest press tightly against his back. Geralt was shirtless. The bard was glad he'd kept his trousers and smalls on when he got into the water (they needed washing anyway); it would be fun to watch Geralt try and wrestle the wet material off his long legs. "Wh-What could possibly be worse than _that_?"

"Me," the Witcher rumbled. He tilted his bard's head to the side, hand still working as a blindfold, and bit down suddenly and rather roughly. Jaskier went still and compliant beneath his touch, ready and willing for whatever Geralt had in store. The bard let out a very _real_ shiver when his Flower smirked darkly against the bite mark and growled out: "And nobody's here to save you."

* * *

Hey guys! Please feel free to check out [This Poll](https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSdNpzidUTDIx3mxB9lPTXlPjCda9FeszxvK_FSyiLCXbN0p2A/viewform) and drop me an answer. If you leave me a prompt and your Pseud I might just send you a gift! Thank you all so much for still reading!


	2. And Wild as the Wind Blows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty smut smut time, my dudes.
> 
> For those of you who responded to the poll: Thank you! I really appreciate it! I read through a few of the prompts and I've picked a couple to write. A few people left me their Pseuds with no prompts so if you want to comment an idea now, that's totally cool with me. 
> 
> Hope everyone enjoys!

Geralt removed his hand from Jaskier’s eyes and let the bard blink back his sight like a freshly hatched owlet. He pulled the younger man’s hands behind his back while he was still dazed and bound them together with a piece of thin hemp rope from their over-large collection. It was soft to the touch and dyed a deep brown; it looked lovely looped and tied around Jaskier’s crossed wrists. “Hmm,” the Witcher contemplated his next move. He felt his Beloved’s muscles tensing beneath that soft, springtime scented skin as his busy mind tried to get one step ahead; Jaskier was certainly a prey animal at heart. “Which should I plunder first, little bard? Your fine purse or _you_?”

“Purse first, if you don’t mind.”

Geralt nipped at the skin of Jaskier’s other shoulder and tugged the rope binding his wrists. He spoke again, his voice low and gruff against the bard’s ear, “That was a rhetorical question.”

Jaskier bit his lip to keep from making a sound. He loved when Geralt got all possessive and grabby. It was an all-too-rare occurrence in the bard’s opinion and he hoped this round of rather inventive sex would last longer than usual. It was incredibly frustrating to get manhandled all the time by strangers and _not_ get treated the same way by his Flower every once and awhile. Those muscles _deserved_ to get used in the bedroom, for fuck’s sake. The bard gave an experimental wriggle and felt Geralt’s grip tighten on the rope around his hands. “Release me at once, you big brute.”

“Why should I?”

Jaskier took the opportunity to tease while he still could, “I have a rather cantankerous Beloved and he takes my well-being _very_ seriously. I’d hate to have him come upon us in any sort of _compromising_ position. It wouldn’t end well for you, sir bandit.”

“I could probably take him in a fight,” Geralt smirked. His teeth grazed Jaskier’s earlobe and his hand tightened against the younger man’s hip. “Now how about we get out of this chilly water and go warm up by the fire, aye, little bard?”

Jaskier didn’t answer, but he did allow himself to be maneuvered out of the water and guided to stand near his very own bedroll, which Geralt had spread out at some point between finishing dinner and sneaking up on him. The Witcher casually flicked the buttons of Jaskier’s linen pants open and tugged them down his legs along with his smallclothes. He tossed them carelessly to the side and Jaskier glared as they landed in a damp heap in some leaves, “That was unnecessarily rude, good sir. Now I’ll have to wash them again.”

“Don’t care,” Geralt shrugged. He grabbed his Beloved’s chin between his fingers and turned the boyish face from side-to-side in order to better examine it. “Rather pretty, even for a bard. I think I prefer you without all the silk and feathers, though.”

“Well that makes one of us,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. The Witcher’s hand slid deliberately from his chin to the nape of his neck, where it clamped down like a vice to keep him in place. A few of those thick fingers tangled in Jaskier’s hair and the brunette’s mouth opened in a silent moan, his eyelids fluttering prettily. The White Wolf yanked his bard forward suddenly and slammed their lips together. The cold metal of Geralt’s medallion pressed against the exposed skin of Jaskier’s chest and he jerked slightly in surprise. The bard whined into the kiss but he was enjoying every second. Geralt released his neck and put both hands on his hips instead, drawing him closer until their bodies were pressed flush together. If Jaskier had been fully competent he would have said they were standing _toes to tits,_ but luckily for Geralt the bard’s usually busy mind was less than functional.

“I’m going to untie you now, little bard. I expect you to behave or it will go _very_ badly for you.” Jaskier nodded with a mixture of mock seriousness and fear. Geralt quickly released his wrists from the thin rope. The bard flexed his hands to ease the blood flow but didn’t move them up from his sides. The Witcher smirked widely enough to reveal the pointed canine on one side of his mouth. “Very good.”

Jaskier tilted his head back and sighed in contentment when Geralt kissed him again and slipped his tongue into his mouth. He stayed pliant and relaxed in the Witcher’s grip, allowing the taller man to do as he pleased. Those strong hands, which had protected him over and over from both monsters and humans alike, were roaming across his lower back and down over his ass, kneading and petting as they went. He moaned softly and felt Geralt’s cock jump in his leather trousers. When they pulled apart to breathe the bard managed to pant out, “My purse may be disappointingly empty but I’m certain I can pay you in other ways.”

“This isn’t a business transaction,” Geralt sneered, still firmly in his role as _sexy bandit_. “This is a robbery. Now be a good little bard and get on your hands and knees.”

“No.”

“Hmm, fine.”

Geralt moved faster than Jaskier’s eyes could comprehend. He put one hand on the bard’s right shoulder and tapped the back of Jaskier’s knee with his foot, knocking him to his knees. He took his hands again, in front of him this time, and rearranged the rope until the tightness and knot placements were satisfactory. “Oh, good sir bandit, please don’t do me harm. I meant no offense by disobeying. I merely do not bow to criminals.”

“You sing of men who rob from the rich and give to the poor,” the Witcher rumbled in his deep, scary voice. “Why am I any different?”

“I don’t think you’re going to share me with any of your merry men, sir bandit,” Jaskier explained. 

“No, I’m not. You’re very right about that. Hands and knees, little bard. Now.”

For once Jaskier didn’t argue. He turned around and placed his bound hands in front of him, offering his ass to Geralt with absolutely no shame at all. This was his Flower; the Witcher would always take care of his bard. The trust was implicit. 

Geralt reached around the bard’s torso and flicked his index finger over Jaskier’s left nipple. He repeated the action firmly over one and then the other until Jaskier was panting and bucking his hips back. The sensation was so much and at the same time not nearly enough. It felt good, so fucking good, but it wasn’t where he needed Geralt to be touching him. _Who would have thought that a Witcher could be so incredibly rude,_ he mused, knowing from experience that his darling Flower loved to tease when he had the time. 

The combination of impenetrable security and physical vulnerability that being bound before his Witcher instilled was a headrush, pushing Jaskier somewhere dangerous and new and wonderful. The world went fuzzy and warm and _Geralt_ all over. 

“Settle down, little bard,” the Witcher ordered, pressing Jaskier’s shoulders back down against his bedroll. The brunette man was panting, his dick hard and red against his stomach as he bent to his Flower’s whims. 

He looked utterly delicious; Geralt couldn’t help but take a little bite. He grazed his sharp teeth against the back of Jaskier’s left thigh and then his right, nipping and kissing his way over the bard’s writhing body. He had the younger man squirming again in no time. He paused to remove his own pants and smalls, searching through the bard’s nearby travel pack for their homebrewed _personal lubricant,_ as Jaskier called it. His Beloved glanced back over his shoulder and watched with a hazy, lidded gaze as Geralt warmed up the mix of oils in his palm and applied it evenly to two or three fingers. He kissed the base of Jaskier's spine and pressed the pad of his pointer finger against the bard’s hole. He could tell immediately that Jaskier had prepared for this. “You already opened yourself up before I stumbled onto your camp, didn’t you, little bard?”

“M-Maybe,” Jaskier panted out. The feeling of his Witcher’s finger tracing along that sensitive skin was driving him crazy. He could barely hold onto a solid thought for more than two seconds at a time. 

“You’re awfully quiet for such a talkative bard,” Geralt remarked, slipping two fingers easily inside. Jaskier stiffened, back arched and mouth open. Geralt worried for a moment that he’d gone too far too fast but then Jaskier was letting out a deep, shuddering breath and moaning in that ungodly way and he was both relieved and incredibly turned on. Scissoring his fingers slowly and twisting them a little, he leaned to nip at the bard’s earlobe. “Do you like it when I touch you like this?”

“Y-yes.”

“Hmm, good. I don’t think I’m ready to stop yet.”

Geralt slid a third finger in and crooked them slightly, looking for the thing that would drive Jaskier truly wild. When he finally bumped against it, Jaskier’s torso nearly launched from the bedroll. The only thing holding him back were his captive wrists and their lack of solid support. “Uhn, oh gods!”

“Did you like that?” Geralt pressed in again, more firmly this time. Jaskier’s legs went tight and rigid beneath him and he let out a tense nod, eyes scrunched closed. Geralt pulled his fingers out and spread some more oil over the length of his cock. “You’re going to make such beautiful sounds for me, little bard.”

“Fuck off, sir bandit. I won’t give in so easily.”

“Shh,” Geralt murmured as he pressed in, moving slowly and steadily. He’d been in Jaskier’s position before and he knew what felt good and what didn’t, at least for him. Jaskier’s body went momentarily rigid as Geralt bottomed out against his ass but relaxed again as he tilted his hips for a better angle. They were sweating lightly and their hearts were pounding but the feeling of being so close and so in love was all-encompassing. Sex with his soulmate was better than _anything_ Jaskier had felt before and he’d never tire of it. The Witcher’s hands were bruisingly tight against the creases in his hips and he _loved_ it.

Geralt groaned and began to thrust. He snapped his hips in sharp, fast little movements, jerking the bard’s body back and forth every time he bottomed out. Jaskier fit against him so perfectly and felt so _fucking_ soft. As the Witcher adjusted the angle of his thrusts to hit his Beloved's sweet spot more firmly he started to feel that heat building low in his abdomen. He reached to wrap his hand around the bard’s dick, pumping his fist in time with the movements of his hips. His Beloved tightened deliciously around him as he grew close to orgasm and Geralt _really_ went to town then. He bit into the meat of Jaskier’s shoulder and rammed into the bard even faster, slapping their bodies together almost violently.

Jaskier could only whine loudly as he felt white-hot pleasure take over his consciousness. His back arched down towards his bedroll and his head snapped back as he came hard across his chest and over his Flower’s fist. “Geralt! Yes!” 

The clench of his muscles had Geralt following close behind, pressing his lips to the lightly bleeding bite mark on Jaskier’s shoulder. He might get a new mark by his own hand; what a thought. “Gods, _Beloved._ You feel so good.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier hummed, resting his head against his forearms. His wrists were rubbed raw byaby the rope and he felt limp.He couldn’t move if he wanted to (and he really wanted to, he needed to rinse off). “Geralt I can’t move.”

“Did you like that?”

“You heard me tell you that I can’t move, right?”

"Shall I carry you back to the water then, Beloved?"

"Please. Me and my pants, which you so discourteously tossed into the grass earlier."

"Hmm."

Geralt scooped the sweaty, spend-covered bard up from the ground and carried him over to the cool stream. He rinsed them both down, cradling his Beloved securely to his chest the entire time. Jaskier was already dozing lightly, floating between awake and asleep. The long day of walking, the heat, and now Geralt's wonderful Witcher stamina had worn him down to nothing. He could only make soft, pleased noises as he was dressed in his smalls and tucked against his Flower's side for the night. "Sleep now, little bard. We can do laundry in the morning."

"Good night, Flower. Thank you very much. I love you."

"Hmm."

**Author's Note:**

> Please take a moment to check out the poll I've posted. I'd really like some feedback.
> 
> Prompts are also welcome there and if you leave me your AO3 Pseud I will gift your prompt-fill story directly to you!


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